


Back When

by kinkyhux



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drugs, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, canon-typical bigotry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 06:27:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10691598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkyhux/pseuds/kinkyhux
Summary: Mac spent two weeks flirting and fucking and starting over. He felt like a different person, but not a stranger. He was having sex regularly and not thinking about much of anything. He felt guilty for everything that had happened, like Dennis leaving was a direct result of everything Mac was. He was glad to have a distraction.





	Back When

> _what’d it feel like then_  
>  _with your love_  
>  _pressing down_  
>  _i would wait for it again  
>  but if i could i’d take it now_
> 
> _jt royster_  
> 

Mac chugged down three beers before he found a guy who was remotely attractive enough. He was around the same height as himself. His lean muscles were peaking through a white t-shirt, light-wash jeans pressed to his hips with a brown belt. His sneakers were worn, and the jacket on his arm, too. His hair was short waves of deep brown. Mac wanted to go up and ask for a dance, but the music playing was some half-country bullshit and he was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants-- not ideal for wooing when the effectiveness of his moves relied on subtlety.

The plan was to be as disgustingly nice and as manly as possible, make him want to fuck Mac somehow, and come back to the bar to get wasted.

And he _could_ do it. For sure.

Dee wiped a lemon peel from the bar onto the ground and glanced between Mac and his target before clearing her throat. Mac rolled his eyes, his back to her, as he waited for his chance.

“Mac!”

Mac turned around and leaned over. “What, Dee? What is it?”

“You’re nervous because you want it.”

“I’m not-- I’m not nervous!" He shouted. "You don’t even know what I’m doing!”

“You’re going to trick that man by the meth booth into thinking you’re worth having sex with.”

“W- What? That’s ridiculous. Dee, you don’t understand. Anything.”

“Whatever you say.” Mac knew that he had no reason to lie, but he also knew that plans went wrong when Dee got herself involved. Better to keep his sin to himself. It had always been easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and he always had permission to repent.

The man scratched the back on his neck, and Mac caught a glimpse of his bicep in action and took an unexpected step forward. And then another. He introduced himself with a smile and a handshake. “My name’s Mac, I own the bar with my buddy Charlie and… and I just thought I’d…yeah.”

“Name’s Sam. Great bar, man.”

“Thanks. So, uh... What do you do?”

“I have a very thrilling occupation-- I sit at a desk, type up budget sheets, and approve expenditures.” Sam exuded charm. He smirked like he’d just served the most damaging of burns. He stepped in close to Mac and said, more softly, “It’s the worst job in the world.”

Mac laughed and thought for a moment. “Worse than people who kill rats and stuff?”

“Worse than that, yeah.”

Mac didn’t really believe him because sometimes Charlie would cry or get hurt real bad. Especially if he’d gotten attached to a cockroach or a rabid squirrel that got stuck in the vents. He always had to remind Charlie that names make people care about things more. “Oh, man. That sucks. Is pay good?”

“Pay’s awesome, actually. They make room for a few extra zeros at the bank. And all I had to do to get the job is write “knowledgeable of computer technology and programming” on my application.” His laugh was warm and possibly the most sickeningly brightest sound Mac had ever heard. Sam’s smile was white and inviting. His lips were pink, and his cheeks from the beer, too. Every dark corner of Mac’s desire was burning with it, except when Mac moved for a kiss, he was stopped with a hand on his chest. “Not here. You got a place?”

Mac was tempted to say no, but then remembered that Dee was at the bar, and Dennis was gone. Niether of them could stop this.

Sam was the best kisser Mac had ever kissed in his life. Every new thing he did sent shivers down Mac’s spine, lightning across his skin. And he kept talking, telling him how great he was at things he’d never done before. His voice was low and quiet, like he was telling dirty secrets. And Mac was afraid he would ruin it, constantly, until he’d ask a question and Sam would smile at him like he was proud.

Mac spent two weeks flirting and fucking and starting over. He felt like a different person, but not a stranger. It felt good--great, even. He was having sex regularly and not thinking about much of anything. Occasionally, he would watch one of Dennis’ tapes, or pick up one of his shirts that Mac had stolen (and improved). He felt guilty for everything that had happened, like Dennis leaving was a direct result of everything Mac was.

He was glad to have a distraction.

Mac was starting to get the hang of sex. He found certain things aquired tastes, others out of the question, but most things were necessities. One guy had wanted to try roleplay, and Mac suggested something religious, and that was awesome. Another wanted to be tied up, but Mac didn’t have anything but floss and a belt. They made it work. Sort of. He’d even been using condoms without even thinking about it.

 

 

Sam dropped by the bar a month later in a suit. He carried a briefcase, a CVS bag, and a weird grin. Mac kissed his cheek and felt his heart race at the instinctive shot of fear and paranoia. Charlie and Frank hardly glanced at them, however, and that made him feel warm.

“You didn’t call, so I thought I’d come and start a fight, but I guess we’re fine,” Sam said, gesturing to the cheek Mac had pecked.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t really looking for anything but to get laid,” Mac frowned, and then something clicked in his brain, and it didn’t make sense, but maybe if he said it out loud… “But I think I’m looking now. For more, that is. If you’re still looking, too, of course!” He fumbled like an idiot. He berated himself in his head, and asked God for help in not fucking it all up.

“Are you free tonight?” Sam took a step forward. He smelled like fresh printer paper and coffee. Mac smiled at how stupidly normal that was, and then frowned because that was some girly fucking shit to think. He may be super gay, but he’s not going to stop being a bad-ass, and girls can’t be bad-ass. “Do you want to get dinner?”

“Now? It’s not even noon!”

Sam kept on smiling. “Later tonight, of course. I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

Mac nodded because he was too afraid of saying the wrong thing. If no one else seemed to want to ruin this, he certainly wasn’t going to let himself get in the way of… whatever _this_ was.

Later, Frank had run to the bathroom for a “Non-Bathroom-Related-Bathroom-Emergency” and Mac opened a beer.

“Don’t you have a date?” Charlie said, too low for Dee to hear across the bar as she cleaned up an ash tray she’d dropped.

“What? Dude, how d’you know about that?”

“You were talking with that guy out loud. Why does it-- you’re not hiding it still, are you?”

Mac hung his head. “No,” he said, and drank down half of his beer. “Sometimes I forget it’s okay.”

“I understand. I spent a long time hiding who I was. But ever since I met Frank, I’ve realized how little I give a shit about what other people think of me.”

“Right. Not really the same, but, okay.”

“No! It is the same!"

“Homos get killed every day for being homos; you just get a weird look for doing something stupid!” He took another sip as Charlie looked puzzled and tried to work it out in his head. “It’s not. It just isn’t, and why am I even trying.”

Mac didn’t know what to wear. Sam wore suits, and he didn’t. Sam looked straight out of a Calvin Klien ad, and had fresh cologne that made Mac think of a slick, chrome, baby blue corvette from the 50’s or something. Mac used axe and showered every three to four days. He felt more and more out of place with every second that ticked by, and started doubting it all. How could someone so perfect want him? How could someone with a stable job and great hair and abs want...whatever he had going on? It all seemed so impossible. He thought that it might be a bad idea.

And then Sam knocked on his apartment door two hours early.

Mac, just getting out of the shower, held onto the towel around his waist with white knuckles. “Uh, oh, hi. What a surprise. Come in.” He couldn’t shake the feeling that he thought it might’ve been Dennis.

“Sorry I’m early. I thought it would be cool if I showed up now and… but you’re not ready yet so. I’ll just.”

“No, no. I’ll go put my clothes on real quick.” Mac had a genius idea: “Want to help me pick out something to wear?”

“Sure.” Sam smiled and looked around. “Oh, do you have a roommate?”

A shot of guilt stabbed through Mac’s heart as Sam stepped over the threshold.

“Nope. Not anymore.” And that’s all he had to say about it, and he wouldn’t even think about it, and it would be fine.

Because Sam was taking his shirt off and looking at Mac like he wanted to eat him. If he actually did, Mac would let him. Mac would let him do anything if it stopped him from thinking.

Except Sam backed him up against Dennis’ bedroom door and kissed him with so much power that Mac felt helpless.

Helpless and angry for it. Dennis fucking did this to him-- all of it, everything. Fuck him.

“You wanna fuck or just a blowjob?” Sam kissed his neck and dragged a hand down his torso to his pants, running his fingers lightly on Mac’s dick.

Mac said it without thinking, and it felt so good. It was almost better than the sex to come. “I’m going to fuck you into the mattress so hard you’ll scream, and then we’ll get dinner, and you’ll be so tired you’ll need me to cut your fucking steak for you.” It was a little much, but Sam’s dark eyebrows flicked up and he turned them around and opened the door until they were fumbling to the bed.

Mac liked Sam because he always seemed to want what Mac wanted. And he didn’t sound gay or look gay, which was easier on Mac. They could get dinner together in suits and Polo's and people would think they were out on business, not homos.

Charlie liked Sam, too, because Sam took his bullshit seriously. Mac was suspicious that maybe he just thought he was slow or something, but then Sam asked him about being a lawyer and a janitor and an artist, how it must feel to be so many things at once, and Charlie lit up like Christmas.

“I don’t like him,” Dee said as Charlie showed Sam into the basement where he kept all his artwork.

“Of fucking course you wouldn’t, Dee. You’re a bitch, you hate everything.”

“He’s too perfect.”

“No such thing.”

“And he smells weird. He smells like he’s made out of paper. Are you sure he’s a real person?”

“Don’t you fucking talk like that! Take it back!”

Dee was unfazed by his outburst. “You know, I thought you were fucking around because you had freedom. Now you’re in a relationship? What’s going, Mac?”

“Shut up, Dee. I can do what I want.”

“Yeah, except you don’t always get what you want, and if you had it, you’d be shoving the fact down my throat. So what’s the plan? Is he loaded?”

“There’s no plan, I just. I...like him. He’s...cool.”

“Mac, you’re so emotionally constipated that you can’t even talk like an adult about a man you’re dating. I know there’s more going on here, just tell me.”

Mac had no idea what was going on. The last few months had been a blur, but now time was standing still. He never thought about the things he did, he just did them. Why was Dee being such a bitch about it?

Sam came back up with one of Charlie’s paintings.

“Uh, what’s that?”

“I bought it.”

From the stairs, Charlie shouted, “He bought my art! In your face!”

“Do you think he’s retarded?” Mac asked. At this point it was the only logical conclusion.

Except Sam looked very confused. “Uh, no. He told me what it was about and I thought it would match my color scheme back home so I… Is he?”

“No!No, but you were being nice to him so I assumed…”

“Are people normally not nice to him?”

Mac was stumped. “Why would anyone be nice to anyone without an ulterior motive?”

Dee murmured in agreement, looking equally as shocked as Mac.

“Why do you think I’m being nice to you, then?” Sam asked in a weird tone. “Why are you being nice to me?”

“Sex. It’s the sex, right?”

Sam laughed bitterly, set the art on the bar, and crossed his arms. “You asshole! I was trying to-- I wanted to be your _boyfriend_ ,” Mac winced. “Oh my god, your head is so far up your ass I’m surprised you fucked me and not yourself! You fucking degenerate, nazi dick!”

Sam left, and Mac felt empty. He wasn’t even all that angry. He sat down on the bar and looked down at the art Sam had bought: an abstract image of what looked like a cup of coffee and broken hearts. Waitress. Stupid. Fuck.

“Dennis wouldn’t fucking--”

Dee jumped at the sound of his name. “Dennis? What does Dennis have to do with… _Oh_ , Mac.” Charlie came up and was rambling about something he wanted to show Sam, and now the guilt was piling on him like water. _Jesus shitting Christ. Sorry._ “Is this about Dennis?” Dee asked, setting down the wet rag and moving closer to him, as if she was trying to avoid broken glass. And she might as well have been. Mac was on the edge of so much; tumble or triumph. Except the ending was always a painful tumble.

“Where’s Sam?”

“He left,” Mac grumbled. “Left your painting. Sorry, Charlie.”

“Oh. Well. Okay.”

“Mac?” Dee urged, and he wanted to knock her in her fucking teeth.

“It’s not about Dennis.”

“Oh, oh I get it!” Charlie said, like he was watching Wheel of Fortune and the word was Nightman. “You miss Dennis, so you went and found a guy who looked like him and now you feel even shittier, and he just figured that out, so he’s mad.”

“That’s not it at all, Charlie,” Mac said, even though it was and they all knew it was, and he’s sure he’s said it as unconvincingly as physically possible. It just felt like the thing to say.

Mac went to a gay bar and got high as shit and fucked at least three guys before he found one beefy enough to take back to his apartment and fuck on Dennis’ bed. And, by God, this man was over six feet tall and not super ripped, but not a twink; and he sounded like a real bad-ass when he spoke, his voice low and loud. Mac let him fuck him and it felt so good, even if he didn’t care for feeling so vulnerable. He rode him, and he didn’t know his name, and whatever drugs he’d taken had heightened his senses to the point of painful awareness. Every fiber of the bed sheets and the hair on his skin was either a pinprick of pain or a jolt of pleasure. Everything he felt mingled together until he was so aroused and perfectly suspended in the moment.

They were drifting peacefully in the darkness when Mac realized they were not in Dennis’ room, but his own, all of the crosses on the walls hung like nightmares over him.

“Y’know,” the man said sleepily, and Mac listened because his voice was so soothing, and the city sounds weren’t distracting enough. “I believe in God. And it took me a long time to understand that he loves me even though I’m gay. That’s the thing, is that religion isn’t about anything but love and faith. God doesn’t need you to do anything but trust him and love him. God wants us to take of each other in his absence because soon he won’t be absent anymore. When we die, I mean. We’ll be with him one day, if we’ve loved and lived our lives, if we take what he has given us and use it for good, and use it because we shouldn’t waste the privilege of life, I don’t remember what I was saying, but you get me, right?”

“Yeah,” Mac said, and then he sobbed, and it was the first time he’d ever made that sound. It scared him, so he cried more.

Christian. That was his name. Christian held him.

Mac woke up at 2 o’clock in the afternoon with engines in his brain and water sloshing around his ankles. His hangover had hit him unapologetically. He threw up for a couple hours and crawled his way to the bed again.

Normally, Mac would make the hangover fix cocktail and he would sit on the couch with Dennis and count to three before they chugged. Normally, Dennis would lean into him and they’d watch National Geographic documentaries to take their minds off of the throbbing and aching and devastation of getting trashed. Normally, Mac would be so angry, all the time, about whatever he could find a reason for. Sometimes he didn’t even have reasons.

Now he was the shell of himself that had been left behind to rot, and he certainly felt rotten.

Charlie asked if he wanted to go with him and Frank to the pet shop to sell some lobsters they’d saved from EzyG’s Shack, and Mac said no. He said no and then he sighed and set the phone down on the coffee table and didn’t think about it again.

He thought about Dennis for the rest of the afternoon. He washed a mug and pours whiskey into it even though he didn’t like whiskey. But it was all that was left and it was Dennis’, so he fucking drank it.

He started saying Dennis’ name, and then he’d pretend he had something to tell him, but he never got there. He just sat in the silence of his apartment and fidgeted. He went into every room and looked at things and tried to think of something to do that wasn’t jerk off or have sex or do drugs. That was all he ever did, but it was fun because it was with Dennis.

The phone rang for a long time, and then voicemail hit. Mac hung up. He didn’t want to hear Dennis’ voice right now. It would hurt.

The bar was stupid. Dee was stupid. Charlie was stupid. Frank was no where to be seen, and stupid. Fucking everything was stupid.  
  
“Everything is so stupid!” Mac announced to the bar. The three regulars turned from their booth to look at him, and one of them nodded in sympathy. Mac just stared at the reflection of himself and hated it. He hated every single cell of his body. God wouldn’t want him to, but he did. He hated it all. He wanted to be someone else, somewhere else.

“You okay, man?” Charlie asked, taking a seat beside him.

Mac turned to him slowly and got in his face. “I’m going to move. I don’t know where, but I’m leaving as soon as I get my bag packed. I’m going to dig out My cousin’s motorcycle and leave. And I’m never coming back.”

Charlie’s face went through a range of emotions. “If that’s what you want, do it. I’ll be here.”

Mac punched Charlie in the face, sent him into the stools behind him, but he was fine except for a scratch and a future bruise. Dee shouted and knocked him onto the floor with a punch of her own from behind the bar.

He came to in the alley, and wiped the blood from his cheek. It felt good to know someone isn’t afraid to hit sense into him. When did he get so out of control?

He knew the answer.


End file.
